A Floury Apron
by elag
Summary: A light-hearted short story looking at what might have happened if Elizabeth had been sent to London while Lydia and Wickham were missing, and met Darcy there - an unexpected encounter and a little baking lead to a sweet resolution. Complete story available on Kobo and Kindle. As with my other stories, I will publish the whole thing here, and leave it up for a while.
1. Chapter 1 Longbourn in Hertfordshire

**Chapter 1 - Longbourn in Hertfordshire**

Two weeks after her youngest sister eloped to marry an officer, or, as Elizabeth suspected based on a better knowledge of the true character of the man involved than the rest of her family could claim, allowed herself to be seduced and abducted by a scoundrel, their father returned from London admitting defeat in his efforts to locate the couple. It was, by now, quite evident that no marriage had taken place and the remaining Bennet sisters had no option but to partake in the ruin visited upon the family by the youngest's folly.

Their mother, never a woman of sense or discretion, was not quiet in bemoaning their fate. "Who will marry my beautiful girls, now?" she cried. "We shall be shunned by the whole village!"

Mrs Bennet's complaints were soon redirected from the errant but absent Lydia to a target more satisfyingly present: she reasoned that if Elizabeth had not refused to marry Mr Collins when he offered for her last winter, Lydia would have been at home enjoying the wedding preparations and not off in Brighton where she was lost. Mrs Bennet was not a vicious woman, but in her anxiety for her favourite, darling Lydia, she could barely think straight, and her character demanded someone to blame other than the actual culprit. While Lydia's fate was unknown, her doting mother could not countenance blaming _her_ for much of anything. Far easier to vent her anxiety on a daughter who was safe and sound in front of her.

Elizabeth could not escape the constant rebukes, and soon came to feel that she might indeed have prevented Lydia's ruin, and by extension that of all her sisters, had she sacrificed herself on that particular altar. Mr Collins was in all ways objectionable as a potential husband, but had she set aside her own wishes and accepted his offer, would it not be as her mother said? Could her own selfishness be the true cause of the current disaster?

And, she reminded herself, if her mother knew of the _other_ proposal Elizabeth had rejected, how much worse would her reproaches be? For, only that April, Elizabeth had roundly refused the hand of Mr Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire - a man worth ten thousand pounds a year - for no better reason than that she could not like him and had believed him to be of bad character.

If she was to now regret refusing a proposal from an eligible gentleman, it was Mr Darcy and not Mr Collins she should truly regret. After her refusal, he had provided her with a letter responding to some of the allegations she had thrown at him. The letter had shown her the extent of her own prejudice in accepting the word of others against his credit. Indeed, she had given weight to the word of the very man who had now stolen her sister from Brighton! And then, during her recent holiday in the north, she had encountered Mr Darcy again, learning more of his good character and improved manners. She now knew Mr Darcy to be a much better sort of man than she had at first thought him, and even if she was not certain she _loved_ him, she could no longer hate him as she did. And he certainly _was_ a cut above Mr Collins, both in person and in mind.

Luckily, her mother was in complete ignorance of this second proposal, and Elizabeth was determined to keep it that way. It was bad enough to be berated for refusing the offer she could not regret. How much worse to be blamed for refusing the offer she found on reflection that she did regret: she might _really_ have saved her family from ignominy if she were Mrs Darcy and not plain Lizzy Bennet.

But she also knew a profound relief that she had refused the man. Given what she knew of his history with Mr Wickham, how could she have dragged his family into this current mess? How could she have reconciled herself with forcing that good man and his innocent sister into a connection with the very wastrel who had done them so much hurt in the past? It was not to be thought of.

These swirling thoughts kept her from sleep and tormented her even on her long walks through the countryside. She alternated between guilt and relief at her own choices, between anger at Lydia and fear for her safety, between flashes of hope that it might yet turn out well and profound grief at all they had lost.

Elizabeth was pleased to receive her father's summons to his book room, where he had sequestered himself since his return from town late that morning. She had missed his calm, wry humour and his ability to see to the heart of things despite his wife's histrionics. A conversation with Mr Bennet was just the tonic she needed to distract her from her mother's chastisements and her own guilt.

"Well, Lizzy, I see that things at home are much as I expected," began Mr Bennet once she had taken a seat next to him before the fireplace in his study. Although he held a glass of amber liquid, he did not invite her to join him in imbibing. She was twenty years, and a woman grown, but to Mr Bennet she was still his little Lizzy, a girl too young to touch spirits.

"Things have been difficult, Papa," she answered honestly, "but nothing to what you must have borne in London. Was there truly no sign of them to be found?"

"It is a very large city, my dear, with many places to hide should you wish to avoid detection. Your uncle and I visited every reputable hotel and boarding house we could find, and some not so reputable, but if they are using a false name, we might even have been at their very doorstep and not known it. It is in every way hopeless so long as they do not want to be found."

Elizabeth had known this, of course, but to hear it stated so baldly drained her of her last dregs of optimism. Somehow, she had hoped against hope that her sensible father and her smart, well-connected uncle would be able to find Lydia and rescue the family. Now she had to abandon that dream along with all her others.

"I should have married him when I had the chance," she muttered.

"What? No!" her father cried, believing she spoke of Mr Collins, for he had never heard of the other proposal she had refused, "It is bad enough to lose one daughter to a scoundrel. I could not have borne to lose you to a blithering idiot. Let me not have the sorrow of seeing you unhappy in your marriage, Lizzy. And you forget that even had _you_ consented, _I_ would have refused him your hand." Overcoming his initial shock at the idea, Mr Bennet observed his daughter more closely, noting her defeated air. "Never, never, never think that this is your fault, Lizzy. Lydia's choices were her own, and the decision to send her so far from my supervision was mine alone. You warned me against allowing her to go to Brighton. Would that I had listened to you. But it is all too late now, and there is no purpose served in might-have-beens. I do not wish to hear another word about you and Mr Collins, do you hear me?"

In teary gratitude for his vehemence, Elizabeth nodded, and turned the conversation to their family in London: Mrs Bennet's brother, Mr Gardiner, his wife and children. Mr Bennet was able to provide a positive report as to their health, though his reason for staying with them had not left either him or his brother-in-law with much time for socialising. "In fact, Lizzy," he added, "Mrs Gardiner thinks she may be with child again - she is not certain yet, you understand, and does not want it bandied about, but is feeling more tired than usual. She asked if I might send you to London to help her for a month or two. I would be loath to lose you for so long, but the Gardiners have been so kind to us that I cannot in good conscience refuse them. Would you like to go, my dear?"

"Oh, yes! I should like that above all things. Do you think Jane might come, too?"

Pleased to see his usually lively daughter regain some of her animation, Mr Bennet laughed gently - the first time he had found amusement in anything since the news of his youngest child's disappearance some weeks before - but had to disappoint her in this. "No, I am afraid not. I could not part with you both or there would not be a single word of sense uttered in my presence for the whole duration. I will rely on Jane to help ease your mother's nerves and to play the occasional game of chess with me of an evening. Otherwise, I am convinced we should all run mad before too long."

"Poor Jane," was her sister's pensive reply. Yet, much as she cared for her eldest sister, Elizabeth was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and before she left her father's study on his first evening home, it was settled that she would set off for London the next afternoon. This news met little opposition from the matriarch of the house, who was glad to have her most vexing daughter - the one who had inexplicably refused a perfectly good proposal - gone from her sight.

© 2019 elag


	2. Chapter 2 Gracechurch Street, Cheapside

**Chapter 2 - Gracechurch Street, near Cheapside, London**

It was a balm to Elizabeth's spirits to be welcomed into a busy household where she could be of use without being chastised, and where more was talked of than Lydia's scandal. In the cheerful company of her young cousins, she could forget her missing sister for minutes at a time. The calm and intelligent conversation of her aunt and uncle drew her out of herself, and she did not have time more than several times a day to recall that her own selfish choices had left Lydia vulnerable to seduction by a scoundrel. Gradually she began to set her self-recrimination aside and to focus on the good she could do by helping her aunt.

Mr Gardiner still took time out from his business to search for his missing niece, although he did not hold out much hope of finding her. Too much time had passed and London was too big a city for Lydia to be located without some unusual stroke of luck. But Mr Gardiner could not rest easy knowing that he had not tried. Of an evening, he would describe his efforts to his wife and Elizabeth: "Today I enquired of the gang masters at the docks as to whether anyone of Wickham's description had applied for work." or "I sent a lad to spy out those boarding houses on Clapham High Street," or even, more hopefully, "I delivered a note to all the modistes that Jenkins knew of, asking them to alert me if a girl of Lydia's description should order any wedding clothes". He did not share with them that he had also enquired of a number of brothels in case Lydia had already been sold into shame. But to date, none of these avenues of enquiry had borne fruit.

Elizabeth was, unbeknownst to her mother, who would have had an attack of nerves at the mere thought of any of her daughters working in the kitchen, quite a skilled baker. Mrs Hitchins, Longbourn's cook, was largely responsible for Mrs Bennet's reputation as an excellent hostess: she was a master of her craft, and could deliver her mistress's demanding menus cooked to perfection. Her greatest skill, however, was reserved for her baking: Mrs Hitchins could make cakes, biscuits, pies, puddings, tarts and breads to tempt the most discerning palates. On many an afternoon, once a haunch was set to roasting or a fowl dressed and in the pot, her kitchen benches would be cleared for the preparation of some delicate confection the likes of which the rest of the neighbourhood could only dream of.

Mrs Hitchins had little time for her mistress. Mrs Bennet set a good menu, and allowed her cook considerable leeway in her management of the kitchen, but while this might have been the basis for respect and even friendship to develop between the two, Mrs Hitchins had no time for Mrs Bennet's frequent bouts of nerves and thought her treatment of her daughters nothing short of disgraceful. She was content to communicate through the long-suffering Mrs Hill, whose limitless patience made her better suited to dealing with the lady of the house.

Mrs Hitchens had started at Longbourn not long after the second daughter was born, and was witness to Mrs Bennet bemoaning the fate that had given her another daughter instead of the son they needed to break the entail. Well, everyone could understand that. But to take her disappointment out on the child was beyond the pale, as far as the young cook was concerned. The babe was not to blame for being a girl, nor, so far as the staff could see, for much else that she was blamed for over the years. To be sure, little Lizzy became mischievous as she grew, and often did things that any mother would have chastised her for, but the way she was treated by Mrs Bennet went well beyond reprimands for coming home with a muddied skirt or running when she should have walked. No, Mrs Bennet took every opportunity to remind Elizabeth that she was not as pretty as Jane, not as delightful as Lydia, not as fashionably dressed as Kitty, and above all, not a boy. Mrs Hitchins did not understand her mistress's resentment of her second child, but she did understand the girl's need to have a refuge where she could get away from her mother's constant attention. And when it was too cold or wet to walk out, that refuge was often the Longbourn kitchen.

And so, Elizabeth had learned to cook. While Mrs Hitchins was directing the preparation of a delicate main dish or peeling vegetables ready to roast, she would set the young child down with some flour to play at baking, and before long, Lizzy's inquiring mind was demanding instruction on how to turn her creations into something edible. In Elizabeth Bennet, she found a willing apprentice who would sneak away to the kitchen for hours at a time to learn a new recipe or to bake a batch of her favourite biscuits. By the time she was fifteen, Elizabeth could take charge of the desert courses and whip up a batch of lemon tarts that no-one could distinguish from those of Mrs Hitchins herself. After she came out, her mother demanded that she spend more time in the obligations of a young lady - more often taking tea with visiting neighbours than baking the treats to be served with that tea - and Elizabeth had fewer opportunities to enjoy the relative peace and quiet of a busy kitchen.

Now at Gracechurch Street, Elizabeth was free to spend as much time baking as she wished. There was plenty to be done in entertaining her young cousins, or supervising their lessons, or helping to settle them of an evening, but this still left many hours when there was little for her to do. Rather than sit and worry about Lydia, Elizabeth visited her aunt's kitchen and offered to assist with the preparation of some baked treats. At first the Gardiners' cook was not sure whether to be more offended by this fine young lady thinking she might be able to make a better lemon tart than a professional cook, or frustrated at the disruption to her kitchen that would result from the well-meaning interference of an amateur. He was pleasantly surprised by Elizabeth's competence. Not only did she produce a batch of excellent tarts, but she was a neat worker who conversed pleasantly with the kitchen staff - not at all thinking herself better than the cook or the scullery maid - and cleaned up after herself.

Indeed, not a week had passed before the cook was watching Miss Elizabeth closely, not in criticism but to pick up some tips from the young lady. She knew several recipes he did not, and her way with making bread was truly impressive. The whole household - above and below stairs - was enjoying the lighter loaves and rolls Miss Elizabeth baked. And those lemon tarts truly were excellent. Whether Mrs Hitchins would be pleased to know that some of her most closely-held secrets has been shared with the kitchen staff of a London tradesman will never be known, since the ruler of the Longbourn kitchen never ventured beyond St Albans in her entire life, while the Gardiners' cook was London born and bred, and never left the environs of that metropolis.

Twelve days after her arrival, it was her eldest cousin's sixth birthday. Young Angeline Gardiner had a sweet tooth, and a particular fondness for cinnamon. While Mrs Gardiner took her children to the park, in the company of their nanny and the upstairs maid, Elizabeth spent much of the afternoon in conspiracy with the cook to prepare a tray of caramels, cinnamon buns, and a quite impressive sponge cake for the children's' supper. Elizabeth had donned an apron to protect her skirts during this effort, but thanks to her own skill and that of the cook, there had been little spillage and her apron bore no more marks than those caused by the occasional cloud of flour raised in the course of cake baking, some of which had also found its way to her forehead.

The housekeeper had taken the opportunity of a quiet afternoon to visit her sister, who lived above a shop in nearby Cheapside. Thus when a firm knock sounded on the Gardiners' front door, it fell to the cook or to Elizabeth to answer it. As the cook was then in the midst of preparing a particularly delicate sauce and Elizabeth had finished her own tasks, it was the latter who hastily brushed the flour off her hands before hurrying to the door to greet her uncle's visitor, doubtless some business colleague who expected Mr Gardiner would be home alone this afternoon.

It was not a colleague of her uncle. Elizabeth opened the door briskly, extending a hearty "Welcome, sir, would you like to come in while I …" to none other than Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy! Surprised beyond measure, Elizabeth could not account for his presence on her uncle's doorstep, and stopped, mid-sentence, unable to think of a thing to say.

That Mr Darcy was himself surprised was evident. He had already begun to doff his hat as the door swung open, and he now stood, hat held a little above his shoulder, wondering whether politeness dictated he complete its downward swing or return it to his head. If he had been able to focus his wits on the question, he would immediately have discerned that whichever option he chose would be better than standing with his arm frozen in mid-doffing, but unfortunately for that gentleman, the larger part of his mind was unable to think of anything but the astounding fact that Miss Elizabeth Bennet - _the_ Miss Elizabeth Bennet - was standing in front of him. He had thought her hours away at her family estate.

After a long moment of mutual surprise and embarrassment, Elizabeth broke the tableau by managing a creditable curtsy and murmuring "Mr Darcy," in tones that almost disguised her confusion at his presence. As she averted her eyes and stood back to allow him entry, he finally managed to bring his hat down and nod his head politely. "Miss Bennet," he replied, and walked nervously into the hallway, where he knew from prior visits he would find a table on which to place his hat and free his hands to … well, to flex nervously by his sides.

© 2019 elag


	3. Chapter 3 An Awkward Conversation

**Chapter 3 - An Awkward Conversation**

Elizabeth showed Darcy into the front parlour, and rang for a servant. She had already lowered herself enough in his eyes by opening the door herself - if she ran on errands to notify her uncle and fetch refreshments, she would confirm every doubt the man had ever harboured about her family and herself. It would inconvenience the cook slightly to send the scullery maid, but it could not be helped.

Ever the gentleman, Darcy waited until she sat in her accustomed chair near the window before he gingerly lowered himself to perch on the edge of the sofa facing her. As hostess, it fell to Elizabeth to open the conversation, and after a nervous pause, all she could think of to say was,

"It is a surprise, sir, to see you here. I had thought you still at Pemberley. When we were there I understood you to have no plans to return to town so soon."

Darcy coughed uncomfortably and briefly considered lying about the purpose of his visit, but recalling Miss Bennet's past strictures against his dishonourable conduct, could not bring himself to lie to her now. Still, it was not an easy subject to broach. With all that lay between them, he worried that the truth would do him no more credit than a lie. "I departed," he said, "the morning after you and your companions left Lambton."

Elizabeth's eyes widened as she considered this revelation. What could it mean? It was impossible not to inquire further, but just at that moment, the maid arrived in response to her summons. She seized on the distraction, instructing young Alice to notify her master that a Mr Darcy was here to see him, and to ask Cook for a tray of refreshments. She noted with approval that Alice carried out her duties with a calm grace that belied the fact that she had not worked as an upstairs maid before. She would be sure to commend her to Mrs Gardiner when that lady returned.

Pulling her attention back to Mr Darcy, who was nervously waiting to learn if her quick mind would put the circumstances together and link him to the dastardly Wickham, she considered him for a long moment. He was as handsome as ever, although clearly flustered: his left leg was tapping nervously, apparently without conscious direction, and his hands were clasped firmly in his lap, as though to keep them from fidgeting. A slight flush had pinked his complexion, and his gaze flickered back and forth between her and the window, as though he could not bear to look at her for long.

Elizabeth had never expected to see Mr Darcy again. She knew how far her family had fallen since that memorable day on which he had explained that she was already immeasurably beneath him while her family's honour, at least, was still intact. Although he had been everything kind and gentlemanly in Derbyshire, and she had hoped that his affection for her might have been reviving, there was no prospect that Lydia's scandal would not extinguish so uncertain a flame, if indeed it had been more than her wishful imagination in any case. Now, he must congratulate himself on escaping such connections! She could not account for his presence at her uncle's house: the idea of him engaging in some business transaction with Mr Gardiner was quickly discarded - given their relative stations in life it would be Mr Gardiner who waited on Mr Darcy and not the other way around. Perhaps he was, ever the gentleman, merely returning the visit that the Gardiners had made to his estate? But, no, that would not answer either. A social call would be preceded by a note and a fixed engagement, not made on the spur of the moment when the lady of the house was not at home to receive visitors. Elizabeth's mind came full circle to her first suspicion: if Mr Darcy had rushed to town the day after learning her terrible news, he must have had some business connected to Wickham and Lydia!

Noticing that Darcy's eyes were now fixed on hers in anxious anticipation of her reply, all pretence of looking out the window abandoned, she stirred herself to speak again: "I am all amazement. Has your visit been connected in any way to the search my uncle has been engaged in?"

"The error was mine," he said, the words bursting from him without preamble. "It was my responsibility - mine alone - to fix it. How could I stay at Pemberley, entertaining guests, while your family suffered at the hands of one I could have exposed to the world, had only I acted when I should. But my pride - my abominable pride - prevented me from explaining his perfidy to you and your neighbours - left you all exposed to his manipulations. Wretched, wretched mistake!"

His evident distress stirred Elizabeth to sympathy. Setting aside her own embarrassment, she endeavoured to ease his: "You must not blame yourself, Mr Darcy. The blame rests with Mr Wickham, and I dare say with my sister Lydia. He chooses how to act without the slightest consideration of others, and I dare say he would laugh to think you took any share of the blame! You were right to guard your sister's reputation. I, myself, knew what he was, and did not think to warn my sisters for fear of saying too much. We might both have done more to protect our sisters, sir, but we did not, and at the time, we thought our reasons sufficient. We could neither of us have expected Mr Wickham's perfidy nor our sisters' susceptibility to his charms. Do not berate yourself for might-have-beens, sir, or we will spend all our lives in regret."

Darcy had watched her countenance carefully during this speech, and seemed to take some comfort from her words. "I do not deserve your forgiveness, Miss Elizabeth, but I will accept it gratefully nevertheless. I come today to give your uncle some news. While matters are not yet settled, I believe I may have located your sister and Mr Wickham, and I wished to confer with Mr Gardiner about our next steps. It is imperative that we recover them as quietly as possible, so that Wickham does not flee before he can be held to account." This was more, and more frankly stated, than Darcy would have said before any other young lady, but he found he could not bear to think of Elizabeth waiting in the parlour, ignorant of all hope, while he conveyed his good news to her uncle in his study.

Mr Gardiner chose that moment to enter the conversation. He had paused at the doorway, out of sight of Elizabeth and Darcy, thinking to give the young couple a minute or two alone before he stole Darcy away for a private conference. Hearing the gentleman broach the news that his missing niece had been located, however, he strode into the room, bowing curtly to Darcy before demanding further details. It took him no more than a moment's thought to consider and discard the idea of excluding Elizabeth from the conversation: she deserved to know the truth, and in any case would not rest until she had extracted it from him. She might as well hear it first hand. So he did not hesitate in calling on his visitor to elaborate: "You have found them, you say?"

"Mr Gardiner," began Darcy, who rose to bow in greeting before resuming his seat, this time a little more comfortably: the presence of the elder man assisted him in regaining his equilibrium, and he glanced only once at Elizabeth before getting down to business: "I do indeed have news. As you know, I placed a watch on the establishment of Mrs Younge." He turned to Elizabeth, adding, "You might recall, Miss Elizabeth, that Mrs Younge is a former employee of mine who turned out to be in league with Mr Wickham." He saw her eyes widen as she placed the name. "I hoped that they might still be in touch, and it seems to be the case. My man spent several nights outside her door before catching sight of Mr Wickham, but at last he has been found. It seems they are residing in a boarding house a few streets distant, and that Mr Wickham and Miss Lydia are still together." He lowered his tone and looked away as he added, "They are not, however, married."

Elizabeth's shocked gasp brought his eyes back to her face, which was now quite pale. "Miss Elizabeth," he said anxiously, "You are distressed. Please, let us call for some tea, or a glass wine. Truly, you do not look well."

Mr Gardiner coughed slightly, as if to remind his guest that the master of the house was present, and if anyone was to offer succour to his niece it would be him, before they were all once again interrupted by the maid - this time delivering the refreshments Elizabeth had earlier ordered, including tea.

Elizabeth, for her part, was more flustered by Mr Darcy's attentive care for her feelings than she had been by the news of Lydia and Wickham. Indeed, that they were living together out of wedlock was nothing more than she had expected: hearing it stated so frankly by Mr Darcy had put rest to all her remaining hopes for a better outcome, but the news had been anticipated these several long weeks so her shock had quickly passed. The extent to which Mr Darcy was discomfited by her distress was entirely unanticipated, and she knew not what to make of his solicitude.

She assured both men that she was well, and busied herself with preparing the tea, serving them before she took a cup for herself, adding a little more sugar than usual to help calm her nerves. After taking a sip, she raised a determined face to the room, asking, "Well, then, what shall we do to recover her?"

"You need not worry about the practicalities, Lizzy," began her uncle, before the stern look she bent upon him stilled his tongue.

"I will not sit idly by while my sister is in the power of that man," she insisted.

Well understanding her distress from his feelings during his own sister's near-disaster, Darcy wished nothing more than to hold her hand and assure her that all would be well. However, in her uncle's vigilant presence, and with no understanding between them, he bit his tongue and restrained himself to attempting to communicate his sympathy through a meaning look. Whether Miss Elizabeth understood him, he could not tell.

But understand him, she did. It broke her heart to perceive such sympathy in his gaze. She did not want his sympathy: she wanted so much more. At last, she came to know her own heart. Mr Darcy was the best of men, and she had been a fool to spurn his proposal. She loved him, and wished that his former ardent affection had not been extinguished - first by her own foolish and intemperate refusal, and then by the harshest reminder of her family's impropriety: a sister who had thrown away her virtue and reputation on George Wickham. But it was all too late: all hope was gone. Elizabeth drew a long, shuddering breath, and cried, "For God's sake, let me be of use or I shall run mad!"

Her uncle took the hand that Mr Darcy dared not, pressing it with warm concern. "Lizzy, dear, you may join our discussion, if you can withstand the necessary revelations that it must entail. But you must trust me to decide what role you can play." He was relieved that after her previous outburst, she meekly nodded and agreed to his terms.

© 2019 elag


	4. Chapter 4 A Wastrel and a Fool

**Chapter 4 - A Wastrel and a Fool**

"Now that we have found them, can we not steal Lydia away without Wickham noticing?" she asked.

"I fear it is too late for that," replied her uncle solemnly. "If they do not marry, your sister will forever be seen as a fallen woman. They have lived together these several weeks. No-one will believe that she has retained her innocence all this time. No, there is nothing for it but that they must marry."

Elizabeth quailed at the thought of her little sister forever tied to such a man. Oh, she was angry at Lydia, and did not hold her guiltless, but even foolish, impulsive, thoughtless Lydia deserved better than the indifferent care of an immoral wastrel and gambler. "Surely there must be some alternative? Is there not some other man - some better man - who might be worked upon to take her?"

"It is too widely known that she left Brighton in Mr Wickham's company, Lizzy. If a girl elopes with Mr Wickham and comes home married to Mr Someone Else, her shameful secret will be obvious." Her uncle's logic was solid. Lydia's choices were few: marry Wickham and be miserable, or remain unwed, and drag all her sisters into ruination along with her. Elizabeth sighed, and a tear leaked from her eye to travel slowly down her left cheek, but she straightened her shoulders and said, "Well, then, the first thing is to confront them and ascertain how the land lies."

"Indeed," said Darcy, impressed with her fortitude and her care for her sister, even in such circumstances as these. "I have an address, and came with the express purpose of discussing just such a plan with Mr Gardiner. I believe I should meet Wickham alone. Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth, but I am confident he has no intention of marrying your sister. His object is some temporary enjoyment, doubtless enhanced by the thought that he is injuring someone dear to me. It will take some persuasion to change his mind about matrimony, and I know best how to work upon him."

"You mean to bribe him to marry Lydia," Elizabeth mused. "You know my father cannot afford much."

"The fault is mine," he said firmly, "and so must be the remedy."

Elizabeth looked at him with wide eyes, considering his words. "Someone dear to me" he had said. Was he saying what she longed to hear? Could it be that he still held her dear, despite everything that had happened? She had suspected so when they were in Derbyshire, but had forced herself to dismiss all such fancies once Lydia's scandal had come to light. She gave him a tremulous smile, and this time it was his eyes that widened in response. Was he more shocked or pleased? If only she had the gift of reading him with certainty. But she had so often mistaken his meaning in the past that she could not be sure.

Mr Gardiner brought the conversation back to practicalities. He had no intention of allowing Mr Darcy to handle the negotiations with Wickham, but would broach that issue at the proper time. First, they needed to inform the errant couple that they were discovered, and to bring Lydia back under her family's roof until a wedding could be effected. It was agreed that her uncle and sister were best placed to accomplish her recovery - she would hardly be inclined to leave Wickham's protection to accompany a man she had always hated and to whom she had no connection. Darcy bowed to this logic reluctantly, but insisted that he would supply men to guard Wickham and prevent him from absconding in the night.

Mrs Gardiner and the children returned home shortly thereafter, and greeted their illustrious visitor with such familiarity that Elizabeth quickly realised that Mr Darcy had been a guest at Gracechurch Street before. How long his search for Wickham and Lydia had been known to her uncle she did not know, but it was clearly not news to her aunt, so she could only conclude that it was a secret her family had been keeping from her. The whys and wherefores could wait until another time, but she would not rest until she knew all.

Mrs Gardiner, on entering the room had been less surprised to see Mr Darcy than to find him in company with her niece - the very person he had insisted not be told of his involvement - and to find Elizabeth wearing an apron liberally dusted with baking flour. She found a moment to catch her niece's eye and pointedly glance at her unconventional garb, raising an eyebrow in question. To her great amusement, Elizabeth looked down at herself, flushed a bright red and jumped to her feet. Clearly she had forgotten that she had come directly from the kitchen and become so absorbed in her conversation with the handsome gentleman that she had quite overlooked her state of dress. Now, mortified, she murmured some excuse and dashed from the room. She returned a few moments later, without her apron but still sporting a rosy blush.

Alice returned to the parlour bearing a tray with a fresh pot of tea and a large plate of cinnamon buns. Mrs Gardiner assumed the duties of hostess, so Elizabeth was left with nothing to do but accept another cup of tea, this time accompanied by one of her own buns. She watched eagerly to see how her cousin Angeline reacted to the treat that had been baked specially for her birthday, and was rewarded with the child's broad smile and eager appetite, as she quickly devoured her first and reached for another.

Darcy, following Elizabeth's gaze, decided to try a bun for himself, although he was not much for eating between meals. A tentative bite was followed by a hearty "Mmmm" of appreciation. He had rarely tasted so fine a bun, and he had dined at some of the grandest houses in the country. "Your cook is to be commended, Mrs Gardiner," he said. "These buns are exceptional." His hostess smiled in acknowledgement of the compliment, exchanging a quick glance with her niece as she said, "I will be sure the person responsible is told you enjoyed their offerings, sir." He noted the twinkle in her eye, but could not account for it other than to assume there was some humour in him attributing the baking to the cook when it was apparently some other denizen of the kitchens who had worked this particular marvel. Whatever the mystery, it was clearly shared by the two ladies of the house, and Miss Elizabeth turned a delightful shade of pink when she noticed his gaze resting on her again. Bemused, but enjoying the sight, Darcy rested his gaze on her while he enjoyed the rest of his bun.

Mrs Gardiner summoned the children's nanny and dispatched them to the nursery, before asking what news there might be that had brought Mr Darcy to their door. She was soon brought up to date on developments, and added her ideas to the plans the other three had sketched out.

Such grave matters were necessarily suspended for a time while a birthday supper was held for Angeline. All the children enjoyed the festive meal which was capped off by a magnificent sponge cake and a plate of caramels. Angeline accepted the enthusiastic congratulations of her family and the dignified good wishes from 'Uncle' Darcy as her due, and was well satisfied that turning six was important enough to warrant such attention. A cheerful hour with the children was thus concluded, before they were once more dispatched above stairs, this time with a few extra caramels to be dispensed by their nanny.

It was only a little after five that the Gardiner carriage pulled away from Gracechurch Street and headed to a rather disreputable district of London. Inside, Mr Gardiner and Mr Darcy occupied one seat, while Mrs Gardiner and Elizabeth faced them. There was little conversation: after a few comments on how much the children had enjoyed their celebration, all four fell silent, thinking about what they would find when they reached their destination. "I am reluctant to bring you into such a place, my dears," said Mr Gardiner at last. "I beg you will stay close and pay no mind to the indignities you are bound to see around us. Just follow my lead."

The carriage pulled up at the entrance to an alley that was too narrow for such a conveyance, and the gentlemen alighted first to hand the ladies down. Darcy signalled to a dark figure who was slouching against a wall nearby, and the others watched in fascination as an apparent ruffian approached, doffed his cap to Mr Darcy, and asked respectfully how he could be of service. Darcy introduced the unlikely specimen as Barker, one of his most trusted footmen, before instructing the man to accompany Mr Gardiner and the ladies to ensure their protection. Darcy himself, it had been earlier agreed, would keep his distance for now in order to avoid alerting Wickham to his involvement. Darcy was far from happy with watching Elizabeth and her family disappear without him, but he accepted the sense of allowing this first meeting to appear as if the Bennet family had somehow located their missing daughter by themselves. There would be time enough later to show Wickham his ire.

The alley wound between dark buildings for near a hundred yards before opening out to a dingy square graced by a well that smelt too stagnant to be fit for use. Two small children, dressed in rags, were sitting in the dust playing a game of knucklebones. On sighting the clearly well-heeled folk who entered the square, the eldest of the two leapt to her feet and approached them with one hand held out in supplication. Mr Gardiner ignored her, and, though their hearts ached to see such poverty, his wife and niece likewise walked past her without a word. Shrugging, she returned to her game while Barker directed them to a door over which the sign of an inn hung, discordantly jaunty in such a gloomy place.

The Saracen's Head was graced with a painting of a handsome fellow bearing a bejewelled turban and wielding a sword curved in the moorish fashion. It was only on closer examination that one noticed his head was severed from his body, still sitting in place as if only that moment separated from his shoulders, the knowledge of his own death yet to register on his face. This was all painted in bright colours and underscored by the inn's name printed in bold letters. All in all, a gruesome subject was rendered quite cheerful, and Elizabeth's spirits lifted slightly in the hope that the inn itself might not be quite so disreputable as its environs suggested.

This hope was quickly quenched on entering the front bar, to which the door led directly. The floor was strewn with filthy straw, the benches were host to a motley collection of drinkers in various stages of inebriation, and the man at the bar looked more used to manhandling drunken clientele than welcoming gentry. Indeed, his eyebrows rose almost to his hairline as he observed the unlikely foursome who had just crossed his threshold. "Andrews," he introduced himself without ceremony. "What's your pleasure?"

"My name is Gardiner," said that gentleman calmly. "I have come to visit one of your lodgers - a Mr Wickham."

"And why would the likes of you be interested in the likes of him?" wondered Mr Andrews, his eyes narrowing speculatively.

"That is between myself and Mr Wickham," said Gardiner. He was not going to air his family's disgrace before the innkeeper, bur recognised the necessity to win the man's cooperation if he was to be permitted above stairs to discover Wickham and Lydia. Without a flicker of irony escaping him, he added, "I would be grateful" - a word underlined by pressing a sixpence into the man's grubby hand - "if you would direct us to his room."

Andrews shrugged and ushered his unlikely guests to the stairway behind the bar. "They're in the second room on the right," he said. Indeed, when they knocked at the second door, it was opened by a dishevelled and clearly surprised Lydia Bennet, George Wickham visible behind her slouched in a seat by the window.

"Lord, what are _you_ doing here?" Lydia cried, before opening the door wider to allow them admittance. She was surprised to find herself enveloped in a fierce hug from her sister before Elizabeth stepped back to say, "Lydia, we have been so worried about you!"

"Worried? La! I cannot think why. I left a note with Mrs Forster explaining where I had gone."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at her sister's carelessness, but this was not the time nor place to call her to account. Instead she asked, with every attempt at conveying hopeful ignorance of the true state of affairs, "And are congratulations in order, dear sister. Am I to now call you Mrs Wickham?"

"No, Lizzy, but we will be wed soon enough, I dare say. Wickham is waiting for some money he expects to come in shortly, and then I will be able to buy my wedding clothes. You must agree that I could not be married in this old thing!"

Wickham had stood on their entry, and remained silent during this exchange. He was less successful than Elizabeth in concealing his scorn at Lydia's naivety, but as that lady's back was to him, she was not exposed to his expression of disdain when she mentioned her wedding clothes. Mr Gardiner, however, had not taken his eyes from the scoundrel who had absconded with his niece, and saw it all: not only had Wickham tarried in London for weeks instead of taking Lydia to Scotland where a wedding could have been accomplished, but it was clear the man had no real affection for the young lady whose life he had ruined. There was little prospect of him doing the honourable thing without sufficient monetary inducement, and it only remained to find out what his price was.

"Mr Wickham," he said, not wasting time with any preliminaries, "I will require my niece to return to her family until the wedding. Perhaps you and I could discuss the … practicalities of the situation. Would you join me in the tap room, sir?"

Wickham nodded sharply and followed Mr Gardiner into the corridor, leaving Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner to deal with Lydia's protests at being parted from her "dear Wickham". They wasted no time in appealing to Lydia's sense of propriety or any care for her family's reputation. Lydia had shown herself impervious to such arguments, and, indeed, those ships had sailed in any case. Instead, they worked on Lydia's vanity, pointing out that Mrs Gardiner would be of great assistance in preparing Lydia's trousseau, and suggesting she deserved a season of courtship, in which Mr Wickham would wait on her at her uncle's home, before she delighted him by appearing at the alter in a new dress, ready to fulfil his dearest wishes. Elizabeth felt quite nauseous before the conversation was over, but succeeded in persuading her sister to pack her few possessions into the valise Mrs Gardiner had brought for the purpose, and sit quietly at the table discussing Lydia's time in Brighton while they waited for the men to return.

It was not long before Mr Gardiner and Mr Wickham came back. Mr Gardiner looked grim, and Wickham sported a satisfied smirk. They did not reveal the terms they had discussed - Mr Gardiner because he did not want to wound his niece with the knowledge of how vigorously her beloved had insisted he would not marry her, and Wickham because he did not wish Lydia to know how much money he would now command. Elizabeth's heart sank in realisation that her uncle had been forced to pay more than he could afford in order to preserve her family's reputation - she could tell as much from their faces. Mrs Gardiner, who had more practice in reading her husband's expressions, suspected things were not quite so grim as they might seem, but was content to wait until they were in more congenial surroundings before pressing him for details.

They took their leave of Mr Wickham (on Lydia's part, this involved many tearful hugs and promises of adoration, which Wickham bore with a sort of stoic indifference, saying only that he would see her again soon enough) and returned whence they had come. Lydia was astonished to find the disagreeable Mr Darcy - the very man her dear Wickham blamed for his low station in life - awaiting them in a carriage at the end of the alley. Luckily his presence shocked her into silence for the duration fo the journey back to Gracechurch Street, and once there, she was easily enticed to a guest room to partake of luxuries she had missed of late - a warm bath and a hearty tray in her room. To her delight, there were even cinnamon buns to be had!

© 2019 elag


	5. Chapter 5 The price of respectability

**Chapter 5 - The price of respectability**

Meanwhile, Darcy, Elizabeth and the Gardiners repaired to Mr Gardiner's study, where that gentleman disclosed the details of his negotiations with Mr Wickham.

"He is a man entirely without shame," said Gardiner. "Perhaps he wanted to anger me by speaking so cruelly of the young lady he had enticed from the protection of her friend by promises of marriage, but if that was his aim, he failed. I have dealt with many fellows with much greater skill at getting under my skin, and I am immune to those tactics. The success of my business depends on my capacity to hold my own in difficult negotiations, and this is exactly why I insisted on being the one to meet the rogue." Here, he nodded at Darcy, adding "from your old acquaintance, I expect he can read you too well, sir. With me, he dealt with an unknown quantity."

This was familiar ground to Darcy, who had heard this argument earlier in the day, and who now recognised its truth, for he could not imagine having kept his temper in the face of Wickham's insolent provocations. He nodded in acknowledgement of Mr Gardiner's point, and urged him to continue.

"He has debts, it seems. In Brighton and in town. Some gambling debts, too, that he needs to pay soon or some former "friends" may come looking for him. Apparently he left Brighton in a rush to keep ahead of what he chooses to call "debts of honour" in the regiment. Taking Lydia with him was a momentary impulse, and he has kept her with him only because he finds her sufficiently comely. Apologies, Lizzy, but there's no point mincing words. The man is a cad, and speaks as a cad."

"I would rather know the worst, uncle. We cannot know what to expect if you paint things rosy in defence of my ladylike sensibilities. Please continue."

"Well, clearly the man had hoped to be discovered by someone with deeper pockets than Miss Lydia's relatives in trade. All he knew of us was that we lived in Cheapside. He had no idea of our real worth. He already thought your father to be an impoverished gentleman, and so he began the conversation with no expectation that we were in a position to relieve his situation. He would hear what I had to offer, he said, but held out no great hope that I could say anything that might overcome his preference for abandoning Lydia and taking his chances disappearing into the night.

"I warned him against such a path, pointing out that the night can be a dangerous place for those with enemies, and I might have hinted that I had connections among the less salubrious parts of town. We got down to brass tacks, and he began to set out the full extent of his difficulties. But he did not just want his debts paid. He had the effrontery to demand a full ten thousand pounds more!"

His audience gasped at this, and Darcy sprang to his feet to pace with agitated energy before the fireplace. "So much?" Elizabeth gasped. "We could never afford it."

"Indeed not," said Mr Gardiner, shooting a quelling glance at Darcy, who appeared about to speak, "but in trade you learn that the opening gambit is rarely the true price. One needs to bargain, and so we did. I impressed upon him the relative poverty of her family, and for some time he kept repeating that surely we had "friends" of means who would come to our aid. How he came to suspect your interest in the matter, Mr Darcy, I know not, but I have no doubt that you, and perhaps Mr Bingley, are who he had in mind. I suppose Lydia had told him that Elizabeth had encountered you both in Derbyshire - had you written to her of it, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth thought back on her light-hearted letters to her youngest sister. Knowing Lydia would care little for descriptions of rocks and mountains, she had filled both sides of a page with descriptions of Miss Darcy's dress and Pemberley's grand staircase, joking that it was even more impressive than the one Mr Collins had extolled at Rosings Park. If Lydia had received the letter before she absconded from Brighton, she would have been able to tell Wickham all about her sister renewing her acquaintance with Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley, being received as a visitor at Pemberley and introduced to Mr Darcy's younger sister. A mind as agile as Wickham's might well have jumped to conclusions that Elizabeth herself had not dared to. "Yes, uncle," she replied thoughtfully, avoiding Darcy's eye. "She knew I had met the gentleman again, and that you had been invited to Pemberley to fish."

"So you see," interrupted Darcy, unable to keep quiet any longer, "he will not rest until he has plumbed my pockets as well as yours."The trick will be to structure it in such a way that he is tied into a respectable life." Turning to Elizabeth he added, "for your sister's sake, if not his own."

"I will not deny you your part, Mr Darcy," said Mr Gardiner, with a touch of amusement. "But let us not give the man more than we must. I have offered him two thousand plus his debts - he says they amount to a little more than one thousand six hundred - and if your cousin sweetens the deal with a commission in the regulars, we may be able to settle for under five thousand."

Elizabeth was sunk in humiliation - that her family would need to pay so much to bribe a man to marry Lydia, and that her sister would be condemned to marry the sort of man who would enter into such dishonourable dealings - it was all too terrible. "Oh, poor foolish Lydia!" she cried, burying her face in her hands.

"Do not despair, Miss Elizabeth," offered Darcy in gentle tones, "for there are ways to help her even with such a husband. She will not be abandoned to his care."

He was rewarded by seeing her lower her hands, straighten her shoulders, and turn a teary face towards him, saying, "You are right, sir. We must concentrate on how to make the best of this mess. As Lydia seems incapable of helping herself, it falls to her family and friends to care for her interests. What do you suggest?"

"I apologise if I seem to know more than a respectable man should about what might be necessary, but I recently had cause to think about what might be done in circumstances such as these. Please do not think I am regularly in the habit of buying husbands for young ladies! As money is Wickham's most pressing concern and is ever his principal objective in life, it will be necessary to give him enough to make the marriage worth his while. Paying off his debts will be a large part of that, since that will relieve the immediate threat of debtors' prison, or worse if he has gambled with the wrong people. But I expect he will demand at least the two thousand you have offered on top. A commission in the regulars is an excellent idea, as that will provide both a regular income, a community of officers' wives for Miss Lydia, and a degree of discipline that may help Wickham avoid falling into some of his worst habits. My cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, is already making the arrangements. That will take 800 pounds. On top of all that, I suggest we draw up a marriage settlement that provides a dower for Miss Lydia of a further thousand pounds to be held in trust, so that Wickham cannot touch it. I would rather see a larger share settled on Miss Lydia, so that Wickham cannot gamble it away, but I know him of old - he will not agree to such terms. He will demand access to the money immediately."

"A dower is a good idea," mused Mr Gardiner, "but the sums are beginning to add up to a great deal of money."

Elizabeth watched in bemusement as Mr Darcy and her uncle argued for the greater share of the cost, finally agreeing that the Bennet and Gardiner families would pay off Mr Wickham's debts while Mr Darcy would meet the price of the commission, the dower and whatever additional amount Wickham could be argued down to. He reluctantly left the actual negotiations to Mr Gardiner. They resolved to keep Wickham and Lydia from meeting again until the settlement papers had been signed - Lydia knew of Darcy's presence today and even if she was too foolish to work out why, Wickham was not. If he learned of Darcy's involvement, the price would doubtless only go up.

Once the plan of attack had been settled to the satisfaction of all present, Mr Gardiner offered glasses of port, which were raised in a toast: "To a happier conclusion than we had heretofore expected."

© 2019 elag


	6. Chapter 6 Coming to the point

**Chapter 6 - Coming to the point**

The Gardiners clearly expected Darcy to take his leave at this point, but to their surprise and amusement, he requested their indulgence in allowing him to speak with Miss Elizabeth alone. That young lady sat frozen in her chair, her mind racing as she tried to guess what he might have to say to her. She knew what she _wished_ he would say, but so many other possibilities seemed more likely - perhaps he would convey a message from his sister, or had some news of Mr Bingley? But however much she cautioned herself to expect nothing extraordinary, her heart leapt with hope.

When she heard her aunt and uncle leave the room, she raised her eyes to look at Darcy, waiting for him to speak. He gazed back for a moment before drawing a deep breath, pacing once or twice before the fireplace, then turning to kneel before her chair and take one of her hands in his own.

"My dear Miss Elizabeth," he began, "you know me well enough to realise that I am spectacularly bad with words. Whenever I try to speak to you impromptu, I fall over my own tongue and appear taciturn at best, rude at worst. When I prepare my words, they turn out quite differently than I intend, and I end up insulting you. I have abused you and lectured you. I have treated your family as if they were beneath me. I know I have not been a gentleman in your eyes. But I have attended to your reproofs. I have tried to become a better man. And I have never stopped loving you. Miss Elizabeth, you must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. I never dared imagine that I would find my heart's other half until I met you, and it was not many days before I could never imagine living out my days without you. I have made so many errors. Been so foolish. But I am striving to be worthy of you. Please tell me I have some chance to win you."

Looking at his earnest face, turned up to meet her gaze with a pleading expression, Elizabeth knew she had to answer this extraordinary declaration, since clearly he was already imagining the worst. Her silence was inflicting pain. And after all, she was in no doubt of her answer. All she had to do was summon the composure to speak calmly.

"Mr Darcy …" she said, only to begin again: "Fitzwilliam," and she had the very great pleasure of watching his face light up with hope, "you cannot win what is already yours."

He could barely credit her words. "But you said I could not have addressed you in any possible way that would induce you to accept me!"

"Oh! Do not repeat what I then said. I was so wrong - the sketch I had drawn of your character in no way resembled the man I have come to know - to admire - to love." Elizabeth blushed at her own boldness, but did not avert her gaze: she was too much enjoying the look of heartfelt delight that diffused over Darcy's face. "In fact," she teased, "I find you are the _only_ man I could be induced to marry."

"Then, my dearest Elizabeth, will you marry me?"

"Fitzwilliam," she said seriously, "are you sure? After everything that has happened? To have George Wickham as a brother? To be connected irrevocably to my silly sisters and mother? Do not ask if you are not certain. I could not bear to come so close to happiness if you were then to change your mind."

"I have never been more certain of anything in my life!" he cried with feeling.

"Then I will marry you."

Elizabeth leaned forward to rest her forehead against Darcy's, and they stayed thus, hands clasped and foreheads touching, until Mr Gardiner, who had been waiting outside the open door to give the young couple a semblance of privacy whilst maintaining propriety, cleared his throat loudly, startling them apart.

Darcy clumsily rose to his feet and Lizzy jumped up to stand beside him, her hand in his. Gardiner smiled broadly, saying, "Do you have something to ask me, young man?"

"Indeed I do, Mr Gardiner. Your niece has made me the happiest of men by accepting my proposal. I will travel to Hertfordshire to speak to Mr Bennet as soon as the Wickhams are safely married and on their way, but in the mean time we ask for your blessing."

Matters were soon resolved, another round of toasts indulged in, and then Darcy perforce had to return to his own house.

The next morning, as Mrs Gardiner accompanied Lydia to the dressmaker's and Mr Gardiner caught up with his business affairs, Darcy and Elizabeth escorted the Gardiner children and their nanny to the park. While their charges played happily, the two lovers discussed their unusual history and marvelled again that it had led them to such a happy conclusion.

Elizabeth's spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she wanted Darcy to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. "How could you begin?" said she. "I can comprehend you going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first place?"

"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, of the look, of the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I _had_ begun. But I _can_ tell you the moment I realised that my heart was irrevocably yours. It was when you walked into the morning room at Netherfield, fresh from walking from Longbourn to inquire after Miss Bennet. You were so breathtakingly glorious. The exercise had brightened your complexion, your eyes sparkled with your amusement at the antics of Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst, and you were all-in-all most delightfully dishevelled. I had arrived at breakfast thinking I could resist your charms, even though I had thought of little else since I first saw you at that assembly. By the time the meal was over, I knew myself to be struck by Cupid's arrow."

Elizabeth blushed at this recollection. "It would be a shock to my mother to learn that you realised your affection for me when my petticoat was six inches deep in mud and my hair was escaping its bonds. What becomes of all her advice if gentlemen do not in fact prefer the impeccably dressed young ladies?"

"There was a time," he said thoughtfully, "when I believed you would never return my affections. I had quite resolved to keep my role in relation to Wickham a secret from your family, because the worst thing I could imagine was you feeling obliged to accept my suit out of some sense of gratitude. I love you too well to see you bound to a man you did not love, even if that man was me."

"I am relieved that you are no longer in any doubt as to my affections," she replied. "I _am_ grateful for all you have done for Lydia, but that is not why I love you. I loved you already, and quite despaired that you no longer loved me. I believed I had thrown away my chance at marriage, for while you hold my heart, I could not be happy with another. But if you were so doubtful, what brought you to the point at last?"

"Can you not guess?"

"I am all ears, sir."

"I came to visit Mr Gardiner yesterday to tell him my news. I was feeling rather sad, for so long as we searched for your sister, I had an excuse to maintain contact with your family. However tenuous, it felt like a link to you - a way I could be of service to you, even if you never knew of it. But once Miss Lydia's situation was settled, I would have no reason to maintain the acquaintance. Much as I respect Mr and Mrs Gardiner, I could not continue to impose myself on them. So though I brought good news, I feared that very news might mean I would never have any connection to you again. But then …" he breathed deeply to regain his composure and blinked away the tears that suddenly threatened, "… then the door opened and there you were, more gloriously dishevelled than I had ever seen you before, and I knew beyond any doubt that I could not part from you again without seeking to make you my own."

"Your sentiments mirrored my own, it seems. I had given up all hope of ever seeing you again, when suddenly there you were on my uncle's doorstep!" Elizabeth thought back to that shocked moment at the doorstep, and how she had come straight from the kitchen, apron and all, and blushed in consciousness. "I must apologise for my appearance at the time," she said quietly. "I had no idea of the visitor at such an hour being anyone of such consequence as yourself, and I was more concerned with being prompt than being properly presented for company."

"You need not apologise for a sight which caused me such happiness. I have rarely seen anything so lovely, and I assure you I thought nothing of how you were dressed, but only of how much I wished to fall on my knees on the spot and declare myself." This assurance was accompanied by a lingering kiss to her hand, which he then retained and held warmly between his own.

Realising that their distraction might be drawing more attention than was proper, they resumed their stroll, with Elizabeth's hand held firmly on Darcy's arm. "I suppose," she mused, "that the mistress of Pemberley cannot be seen going about in a dusty apron."

"On the contrary," her beloved replied, "I shall insist on it, at least occasionally, if the result is those wonderful cinnamon buns."

Elizabeth laughed delightedly. "You figured that mystery out, then, did you? I saw your puzzlement when Aunt Gardiner deflected your praise of Cook, but did not think you would suspect me of the work."

"I did not at the time. I must plead that I was somewhat distracted by other matters - the business with your sister and the presence before me of the only woman in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry - so perhaps my powers of observation were not at their best. But later, when I was sitting in my library at home with nothing to do but think back on every moment in your presence, I put two and two together. Your apron and its dusting of flour. The conspiratorial look you shared with your aunt. The way you were so eager to watch Miss Angeline enjoy her treat. The pieces were all there before me - it only took a moment of calm reflection to put them in their proper places."

"If you like my cinnamon buns, Fitzwilliam, then you will love my lemon tarts!"

"I am sure I shall. But to be serious for a moment, my dear: rest assured that the mistress of Pemberley may do just as she pleases. If it pleases her to spend time in the kitchens, then that is entirely at her discretion. As Mrs Darcy, you will not be confined within the weak lists of a country's fashion. We will be the makers of manners, Lizzy."

Recognising his mangled quote from _Henry V_ , and highly amused to be compared to royalty, she decided a mild tease was in order. "And therefore," she said, "patiently and yielding …"

Darcy groaned at this invitation to a kiss: for all his words of disdaining fashion, he would not embarrass his beloved by kissing her here, in full view of strangers in a public park, but he dearly wished to. He contented himself with squeezing her hand tightly and bending his head down close to hers to whisper, "You will be the death of me, Miss Elizabeth, if you continue in that way. Have mercy, and speak of something else!"

And so they did. Plans were laid for finalising the situation with Wickham, and for Darcy to visit Hertfordshire to speak to Mr Bennet. He mentioned in passing that he would be able to stay with Mr Bingley at Netherfield Park, which naturally led to a discussion of that gentleman's intentions towards Elizabeth's eldest sister. "I cannot say precisely what his plans are," said Darcy. "I have learned my lesson, and have not sought to guide him in any particular direction. He clearly seeks to renew his acquaintance with Miss Bennet, and if I am any judge, is still as enamoured of her as he ever was, but if that leads to anything more is entirely a matter for the two of them."

Elizabeth congratulated him on his restraint, at the same time wishing just a little that in this particular case he had given his friend a push in the right direction.

Their walk came to an end, and the tired but happy children were herded back to the Gardiners' doorstep, where Darcy said his farewells and went on his way. He would return for dinner, by which time Mr Gardiner expected to report on his further negotiations with Wickham.

© 2019 elag


	7. Chapter 7 An evening at Gracechurch St

**Chapter 7 - An evening at Gracechurch Street**

Mrs Gardiner and Lydia returned from their shopping expedition shortly after Darcy's departure.

Lydia was delighted to share with Elizabeth all the details of ribbons and lace that would adorn her wedding dress. Of course, she gloated, it was only to be expected that she would be the first sister to marry, despite being the youngest, for she was far the most beautiful and charming. She feigned sympathy for what she presumed to be Elizabeth's heartbreak at losing her former favourite to a younger sister, but chided Elizabeth that she needed to be a bit more agreeable and less clever.

"If you come to visit me when my dear Wickham and I are settled with his new regiment, I am sure I can get you a husband," she offered. Elizabeth thanked her for her kindness but said she did not much like Lydia's way of getting husbands. "Oh, lah! You would like it well enough if it got you such a man as my Wickham!" was all the reply she received, and rather than making an enemy of Lydia by saying what she really thought of George Wickham, or of Lydia's careless disregard for her family's reputation, Elizabeth bit her cheek and focussed on her embroidery. Mrs Gardiner, sensing the tension in the room, turned the conversation to a consideration of the likely weather for the morrow, and the remainder of the afternoon was passed in inconsequential chit chat until it was time to dress for dinner.

If Elizabeth took more care than usual with her appearance, she was not alone. Darcy had amused his valet by changing his mind no less than three times about what colour waistcoat he would wear. In the end, he settled on a plain forest green that suited him very well. He was prompt to his time, and found the three ladies and Mr Gardiner sitting in the parlour. He managed a creditable greeting to everyone present, even remaining polite to Miss Lydia despite her loud "La! What is _he_ doing here?", but his eyes returned quickly to feast on the sight of his Elizabeth.

Mrs Gardiner had sat Darcy on one side of the table, facing Elizabeth and Lydia, while she and her husband sat in their accustomed places at the foot and head of the table. Darcy found the arrangement uncomfortable at first, as he felt Miss Lydia's curious gaze on him and could not talk comfortably with Elizabeth under her sister's scrutiny. After a few stilted efforts, he was rescued by Mr Gardiner, who engaged him in a conversation about the varieties of fish and game birds that could be found on his estate, and how that compared with what he had encountered at Netherfield Park. Darcy was gradually able to relax and enjoy the company.

Elizabeth had at first been quieter than usual. A combination of nervousness about what further disrespect Lydia might display, curiosity about the one subject they could not discuss in front of Lydia - whether terms had been settled for her marriage - and being distracted by the undeniably pleasant sight of her Fitzwilliam seated directly across the table from her, meant it was difficult to gather her thoughts. Nevertheless, by the second remove, her aunt and uncle's genial good manners had calmed her sufficiently that she was able to enter into the comparison of Hertfordshire and Derbyshire which, as a result of her recent travels, she was able to make several intelligent observations on.

The dinner passed pleasantly for all but Lydia. If she had been at home, her mother would have talked of nothing but her wedding preparations. She _ought_ to be the centre of attention. After all, one is only an engaged woman once in one's life. Surely it was a time to glory in the affectionate care of family and enjoy being the envy of unmarried friends and sisters alike. How unfair to be stuck here with the boring old Gardiners listening to them talk about places she had never been with a man who had no connection with her family, but who had been ever so mean to her Wickham! She huffed and rolled her eyes, but as no-one paid her any mind, only served to work herself into a level of grumpiness which led her to retire to her room immediately after dinner. This, of course, suited the convenience of the remainder of the party, who were now able to speak freely.

Mr Gardiner and Mr Darcy between them laid out the state of play in negotiations with Mr Wickham. The wedding would indeed proceed on the following Tuesday. Wickham had agreed, in the end, for the settling of his debts, a commission in the regulars, two thousand four hundred pounds in his control and a further thousand pounds in trust for his wife. The total came to five thousand, eight hundred pounds, plus some small change for fripperies such as a trousseau and the hire of a carriage to take them to Newcastle where Wickham would take up his new post. While Elizabeth was appalled at the immense sum, Darcy was impressed that that Mr Gardiner had managed to keep it so low. "I had fully expected to part with a clear ten thousand," he said cheerfully. "Remind me not to attempt to cross you in business, sir."

A disposition was agreed upon between Mr Gardiner and Mr Darcy, and in absentia a share decided for Mr Bennet, as to how the costs would be met. Darcy took the lion's share - stubbornly repeating his mantra, "The error was mine. So must be the remedy." - but he did not deny Lydia's father and uncle their part, and dignity was preserved for everyone involved other than Lydia and Wickham themselves, who would have to content themselves with being far better provided for than they deserved.

Mr and Mrs Gardiner then fell into quiet conversation at one side of the room, giving Darcy and Elizabeth the opportunity to speak with relative privacy. Darcy bemoaned the fact that he would be busy for the next few days with securing Wickham's commission and a special license to enable the wedding to be held so soon, as well as catching up with his own neglected affairs. They reluctantly agreed that it was best not to raise Lydia's suspicions of his interest in Elizabeth. If by chance Lydia should speak to her betrothed before the wedding, Wickham was as like as not to seek better terms if he knew the deep pockets of the master of Pemberley were involved. They all planned to keep the errant couple apart until the wedding, but it was best not to tempt the fates.

So Darcy and Elizabeth reconciled themselves to being parted for near a week, and murmured many assurances of mutual affection to tide themselves over until such time as they could make their engagement public. As their interlude drew to a close, Darcy leaned close to his beloved's ear and whispered, "When I grow impatient to see you again, I will console myself with the memory of your appearance yesterday morning when you opened the door to find a besotted suitor standing before you." Elizabeth laughed lightly, saying, "Here I have gone to great lengths this afternoon to present myself as a respectable young lady ought, and you tell me you will rather remember me straight from the kitchens, dusty apron and all! How is a young lady to know what to wear?"

Darcy, recalling his own meticulous preparation for the evening, assured her she was everything lovely as she was, but mischievously added, "but I admit to liking you a little dishevelled from time to time. I hope you will find reason to appear dishevelled as often as possible once we are married." The deep timbre of his voice hinted just what circumstances he had in mind, and Elizabeth blushed a bright red before recovering sufficient composure to answer, "Indeed, sir, I fully intend to continue with my baking activities."

Noticing his niece's blush, Mr Gardiner called the evening to a close and Mr Darcy perforce had to take his leave from Elizabeth and his hosts.

© 2019 elag


	8. Chapter 8 A wedding and a promise

**Chapter 8 - A wedding and a promise**

On the Tuesday next, a small party arrived at the Gardiners' parish church. Mr Gardiner had taken the carriage to collect Mr Wickham from the Saracen's Head while Mrs Gardiner, Elizabeth Bennet and two footmen escorted Miss Lydia on the short walk from the Gardiners' house to church. Lydia was dressed most becomingly in her wedding finery - a blue silk gown that sported more ribbons and lace than either Elizabeth or Mrs Gardiner thought elegant, and yet less than Lydia had wanted: after several hours at the dressmaker, Mrs Gardiner had finally put her foot down and refused to fund any further embellishments to her niece's gown. Lydia had decorated her bonnet herself, and found nothing wanting in the profusion of feathers and ribbons that adorned it. And she proudly wore the garnet necklace that Elizabeth had given her to mark the occasion. Indeed, she looked exactly as she had imagined she might on her wedding day.

Stepping carefully to preserve her slippers from puddles and the leavings of horses, Lydia was delighted with the chance to parade her good fortune before the neighbourhood, even if it would be her aunt's acquaintances rather than her own who were treated to the sight. She walked slowly and elegantly, making the most of these few moments when she was finally receiving the attention she felt due. As they passed by, people extended their congratulations and good wishes to the bride, and Lydia was in an excellent mood by the time they reached the steps of the church.

It was a great shame, she thought, that Mr Gardiner and her papa had been too miserly to bring her sisters and mother to town for the event: she should have only Elizabeth and her aunt Gardiner to stand up with her, and her uncle would perform the office of giving her away instead of her own father. How her mama would have delighted in the scene, and how she herself would have delighted in the envy on her sisters' faces, but she did not let these reflections dampen her spirits for long, for when her Uncle escorted her inside, there was her very own George Wickham, standing before the altar and looking ever so dashing in his new regimentals.

With a light heart and a broad smile, Miss Lydia Bennet achieved her heart's desire, becoming the first of her sisters to marry, and to _such_ a handsome officer! She repeated her vows clearly and confidently, and if Mr Wickham appeared a little subdued, it could easily be accounted for, she presumed, by him being overcome with joy at gaining such a wife.

In truth, George Wickham was more pensive than unhappy: the newly-minted Lydia Wickham looked truly beautiful, and perhaps his fate was not so terrible as he had at first thought. With his debts paid off and a chance to start again in a new part of the country, and a reasonable stake to begin his new life, Wickham felt he had, all things considered, done quite well out of the Bennet and Gardiner families. Who would have thought the London uncle would pay so much to preserve the respectability of his nieces? He must be doing very well in his business to be able to afford the expense, for Wickham knew the Bennets had no money to speak of.

It was not until that evening, when he once more had access to the carnal pleasures his wife had so freely bestowed on him before her family had intervened, that he learned from her of the intriguing visit to the Gardiner residence by Fitzwilliam Darcy, and begin to wonder whether he had been played for a fool after all. What possible reason would Darcy have for visiting the Gardiners unless he had taken some interest in the matter of Wickham's marriage. He could not for the life of him work out why Darcy would bother: true, he had pushed the man to the limits when he had tried to secure his sister, but that was over a year ago, and when they had met in Meryton last winter, Darcy had simply avoided him, not sought to exact revenge. No, it made no sense, but then, he reflected, when had the ways of the very rich ever made any sense?

Regardless, the deed was done, and Wickham had no option but to attend his new regiment with a wife in tow. Lydia Wickham was as likely to make a go of being an officer's wife as any other women he had ever come close to capturing, he concluded: she was shallow enough to enjoy his company, and admired him enough to compliment him to all his future fellow officers. He supposed it made sense to keep her sweet on him - which would not be too difficult given his skills at seduction: it would certainly be easier to endure her admiration than the shrew he suspected she would become if crossed.

He shrugged with a gambler's acceptance the hand fate had dealt him - this gamble had turned out better than it might - and moved on to his next opportunity. The newlyweds departed for Newcastle on the Wednesday morning. With a brief stop in Hertfordshire to allow Lydia to gloat to her sisters and show off her ring, they were settled in the north by the end of the following week.

Darcy had stayed out of sight at the nuptials, although he had not been able to resist attending at all: he needed to be certain that Wickham had not found some way to escape at the last. He quietly entered at the back of the church a few minutes after the ceremony had commenced, and stayed hidden in the shadows: no-one looked about themselves and he remained unobserved.

The relief of seeing that scoundrel bound in wedlock was near as great as that of seeing Miss Lydia's reputation - and by extension her sisters' - cleansed by the magic of marriage. He departed once the vows were exchanged, and did not attend the wedding breakfast (although he correctly suspected that it would feature some of Elizabeth's excellent baking). True to his word, he kept out of the way until midday on Wednesday, when a messenger from Gracechurch Street arrived to tell him that the coast was clear.

He crossed town in record time, eschewing the comfort of a carriage and riding horseback instead. Throwing his reins to a Gardiner stable boy, he dashed up the front steps and knocked briskly. He raised his hat in anticipation of the door opening, and was delighted to find himself once again face to face with Miss Elizabeth Bennet (this time without an apron). He executed a sweeping bow and greeted her heartily. Her welcome was quite as enthusiastic, and she ushered him into the front parlour, where she rose to her toes to bestow a kiss on his lips before withdrawing just as quickly, saying, "I will call my aunt."

Darcy stood for a moment longer, relishing the way his lips tingled from her kiss and subduing the desire to pull her into his embrace and repay her in kind, before he took the seat she indicated and settled for giving her a heated look instead. Elizabeth had pulled the bell pull, and when a maid answered the summons, she asked for Mrs Gardiner to be informed of their visitor and for a tray of "some tea and whatever is fresh from the kitchen" to be sent up.

Both of these arrived promptly, Mrs Gardiner assuming her role as hostess and offering around a tray of lemon tarts and cups of tea prepared just as each person liked it. One of the ironies of the class system was that, with her direct access to the great trading houses, Mrs Gardiner was able to serve fresher and more aromatic tea than most of her social betters. Darcy had certainly never had a pleasanter cup at the houses of any of his titled relatives or friends. And the lemon tarts? Well, they were truly exceptional, and he had a strong suspicion as to who could take the credit for them.

"You must promise me, Mrs Gardiner, that when I depart for Pemberley, I may take the secret of your lemon tarts with me. I am sure I have never tasted their equal," he said, with a twinkle in his eye and the merest quirk to the corner of his mouth.

"Why Mr Darcy," answered that lady with a smile, "I believe I can safely promise you shall take with you the best recipes my kitchen or Longbourn's have to offer."

And so he did.

© 2019 elag


	9. Epilogue - A family tradition

_Here we are at last, at the end of this little tale. I apologise to all the reviewers whose excellent ideas I didn't incorporate into the story, but as it had already been published, I thought it best not to start changing it now. I will take this down from FanFiction after a few months. If you want to keep a copy for posterity, it is available on Kobo and Amazon, as A Floury Apron, by Margaret Gale._

 **Epilogue - A family tradition**

"Mama! Bennet has run away from Nurse again! You must come!" Anne Darcy tugged on her mother's sleeve, urging her to hurry. She was disappointed in her appeal, however. Instead of a panicked rush, she was met with calm reason: "Did Nurse send you to get me?"

"No, Mama. I knew you would want to know, so I didn't wait to ask Nurse. She was too busy looking for Bennet anyway."

"Well, I think I will wait until she asks for help. She is really quite good at finding Bennet, you know. After all, it is her job, and he's given her plenty of practice. But since you are here, my dear, do you think you might like to help me make the tarts?"

Five-year-old Anne stared with wide eyes from a face that strongly resembled her father. The natural reserve she had inherited from him was leavened by a dash of her mother's energy and impertinence, resulting in a child who took care of her younger siblings with a fierce determination, including running the length of the house (and it truly was a very long house) to find help for them if needed. She considered her mother's question seriously: she was not quite convinced that three-year-old Bennet could be left to the nurse's care, but the temptation of learning how to make such delicious treats was, in the end, too much. She nodded her acquiescence and awaited instruction.

Elizabeth Bennet Darcy tied a cloth around her daughter's waist to serve as apron and began to reveal her most closely-guarded secrets: "We have to make the crust and the filling separately. Let's start by gathering together all the things we will need. Would you please ask cook for some eggs and a large mixing bowl … "

© 2019 elag

 ** _Author's Note:_**

 _I hope you enjoyed this little excursion into what might have been if …. All characters belong to Jane Austen, and I hope she would forgive the liberties I have taken with them, and the occasional stealing of her phrases._

 _There is nothing in canon that supports the idea that either in the Bennet household or as Mistress of Pemberley, Elizabeth would have had anything to do with actually cooking. On the contrary, Mrs Bennet assures Mr Collins when he first visits Longbourn that her daughters do not cook._

 _"_ _The dinner too in its turn was admired; and he begged to know to which of his fair cousins the excellency of its cooking was owing. But he was set right there by Mrs Bennet, who assured him with some asperity that they were very well able to keep a good cook, and that her daughters had nothing to do in the kitchen."_

 _The idea of a girl in such a household as Longbourn being able to keep her cooking activities secret is also a big stretch - I am sure that Lydia and Kitty would somehow have found out and told on her, if nothing else!_

 _But despite all these reasons this story could not have happened, I have obviously watched one too many episodes of the Great British Bakeoff, and this plot idea would not go away._

 _If, like me, reading this story has made you hanker for a good lemon tart, try this recipe from the BBC's Mary Berry: www DOT bbc DOT com /_ _food/recipes/individual_lemon_92197_


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